Wahnsinniger

"I sense not a spark of magic in this device, and yet you claim that it can not only speak, play music, and tell the time, but it can also take someone's likeness in an instant? With no paint?"

An amicable-looking old man was having an animated discussion with an increasingly bemused salesman at a nearby electronics stall, the younger of the two (having sensed an impending sale) taking great pains to explain the wonders of a smartphone to his customer.

"Yes sir, I'll show you!" the salesman said, aiming the device's camera at the bearded elder and ignoring the quip about magic. "Smile, if you please."

Click!

Exclamations of amazement ensued as the salesman showed the old man a photo of his own surprised face.

"Why, wonders never cease! I'll take two!" Rooting in his pocket, the old man withdrew a weighty purse and counted out several scarred, heavy coins that shimmered enticingly in the orange light of dusk. "How much for a pair of them?"

As the coins dropped onto the tabletop one by one, producing a sound that was more thunk than clink, the salesman swallowed, attempting to summon some moisture into his suddenly dry mouth. Unless his eyes were deceiving him, this old man intended to make his purchase with a pouch filled with gold.

Bony, armored eyelids flicked open with a soft click, then closed once more when neon harshness poured in, burning their retinas and causing them to contract into catlike slits. With a wordless grunt of discomfort, the large, roughly triangular head those eyes were set into turned away from the light, seeking the dark behind as their owner pieced together what had happened to him in recent memory. The result was not pleasant in the least.

He had been defeated, then, and no doubt the paladins of the city had fallen soon afterwards. A flash of disgust was the initial reaction, before being pushed aside as useless in the long term; the important thing was he was not currently an undead monster along with all of the other unfortunates who had fallen to the Necromancer. For now, he had to figure out where he was and see if he could possibly return; someone had to organize the resistance after all, since after taking such a large city the necromancer would be in decent position to take a run at the throne.

"Mommy, what's that?" asked a small, high pitched voice from somewhere in the direction of the light.

Well, time to take a look. flexing his neck to turn his head back towards the light, Salariel beheld a child, clinging to his mother's hand and pointing at him with one sugar-stained, sticky finger as his mother's face drained of all color.

"D-duh-" she stammered, grip on her child tightening tenfold and causing him to whine and tug at her hand.

"Good evening." Salariel said politely, pondering how to free himself from the tight confines of the alley he had woken up in and raising his head to a comfortable posture. His eyes gleamed with the reflected neon light, glowing eerily high above as he stared down at the little humans, shiny teeth and scales sparkling dully in the dark.

"DRAGON!" the woman finally shrieked, hoisting her child and running screaming into the night, spooking the crowd around her.

Physical: A tall, slender dragon with shining scales, a bright silver in color. As he is able to change his physical form at a whim, his appearance is quite fluid, but his natural form looks something like the picture below:

Mental: Silver Dragons are morally upright and just in nature, being the de facto paladins of the dragon world, and Salariel is no exception. Intelligent, wise and experienced, he is neither quick to judge nor rash in his decision making, giving every situation the reflection it is due before taking action. This method, he has found, often leads to situations simply resolving themselves without his intervention, with the hotheaded humans who had come seeking his aid growing impatient after a mere week of deliberation and scampering off to settle things themselves.

Of course, such was the predisposition of mortals. No patience at all, not even among their longer-lived races.

Loyal to his god, fiercely protective of that which is his (like all dragons) and willing to lend aid if asked (provided that the asker is willing to wait for him to formulate a plan), Salariel is the quintessential Silver Dragon. No more, no less.

Background: Orphaned as a wyrmling when his parents sacrificed themselves fending off a roving Red Dragon from their territory, Salariel was raised by the clerics of Iomedae, who came to collect him and his nestmates after the battle. He grew quickly, as is the way with creatures of magic, and came into his strength under the priests' gentle tutelage, growing up to protect the valley that housed their temple's village just as his parents had before him. Time passed as he grew larger and stronger still, helping the temple's paladins fend off packs of wandering undead and the occasional calamity and building his horde and his reputation as the guardian of the hills around that simple village. Adventurers came and went, seeking advice, treasure and sometimes aid. Years passed.

Then tens of years.

Then hundreds.

Eventually, the day came when the combined strength of himself and the paladins of the temple, now grown into a grand cathedral with a bustling city around it, wasn't enough to save the day. A dread necromancer appeared, slaying townsfolk by the dozen and felling the city's guards like wheat before the reaper, adding each and every one to his swelling army of undead abominations. When the final battle came, Salariel fought valiantly alongside the paladins, clerics and soldiers who had made it their business to protect their home, but found himself confounded by foul magics. With a word and gesture, the evil mage sent Salariel tumbling through the realms, lost to time and space.

Just read it. I promise I'm not being lazy, there's actually a shit ton of stuff here and this is extremely convenient.

Equipment: Claws, wings, scales and a winning smile absolutely jam-packed with pearly whites, each the size of a large dagger.

Sample Post: "And what, pray tell," Salariel asked the merchant manning the stall he was perusing, "Is a light bulb? How does it produce light? I don't sense any sorcery in this little bauble..."

"I-it's electric sir!" the man behind the till babbled, shaking in his boots at the sight of the middle-aged customer standing before him for reasons he didn't quite understand. To him, it was like talking to his stern, demanding father all over again; for some reason this man was terrifying, even though he was only asking absurd questions in a polite tone of voice.

"Electric? Like unto that which the Blues spit? Bright, to be sure, but hardly long-lived enough to serve as a source of light... unless this little dome traps it somehow, to shine on for a time? Is that, perchance, how it works?"

"Dunno sir! I j-just sell them!"

"Calm yourself, man. This is not an official inquiry; in fact, here I am not even an official! I believe I will purchase one of these 'light bulbs' so that I may puzzle out its function in my own time. How much do they cost?"

"Seventy five, mister!" the merchant replied, putting forth a visible effort to not yap like a spooked lapdog.

Eyes twinkling with amusement, Salariel counted out the munny and handed it over, taking his new light bulb and secreting it somewhere about his person before clapping the overexcited saleman on the shoulder.

"You are a good boy, minding your master's stall so diligently. And you are somewhat more observant than most, if you caught a whiff of my true nature. Have a good day, youngling." With that, he strolled away down the street, leaving a terrified and now thoroughly confused salesman counting out the 7500 munny he had been handed and wondering if he dared call after the man who had paid in hundred munny baubles as though he couldn't tell them from ones.